


Eidolon

by orphan_account



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Character Study, I Don't Even Know, M/M, Relationship Study, please get on board the onesided kageiwa train i promise the next stop is not hell, too much parenthesis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-11
Updated: 2014-06-11
Packaged: 2018-02-04 07:55:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1771504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When he sees Iwaizumi looking at Oikawa, eyes filled with quiet admiration and awe, all he can ever think of is 'I want that'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eidolon

**Author's Note:**

> Big thanks to the crew and whoever else took part in that shit storm of one-sided Kageiwa on twitter. Credit goes out to a lot of you for sharing your ideas, I’m sorry I butchered them ;_;  
> Apologies ahead of time!!  
> (Obviously there is some canon divergence--)
> 
> Enjoy!

* * *

 

It started, he thinks, in middle school.

 

“Oikawa-san, please teach me how to serve.” He says, shoulders straight and back rigid, voice frail and light, feeling his throat close around each word, worried of mucking up each syllable, each sound.

(But then Oikawa is fire,  and he is lashing out fast and mercilessly, wanting to burn, to destroy.)

“Calm down, dumbass!” Iwaizumi shouts, stops Oikawa’s hand in its path and wedges himself between the two, pushes the setter back and glares him down, holding himself out as a shield.

(And if Oikawa is fire then Iwaizumi is storm, for his rain is the only thing that can quell the pure rage of the flame, his voice like thunder, movements as quick as lightning strikes.)

“Kageyama, sorry, that’ll be all for today.”

(But storms can be quiet, can be calm, can be nothing but sprinkled rains on winter days, of harmless clouds that refresh, re-nourish, that tend to the dried out wreck that the heat has left behind.)

“O-okay.” Is all he manages, tongue thick and heavy and turned to ash within his mouth, exiting the gym. He turns, once, glances back when he’s already halfway out the door, watches as Oikawa’s fire is smothered and Iwaizumi’s stormy skies clear away.

(Never look directly at the sun, never search for the eye of the storm.)

Iwaizumi links his fingers with Oikawa’s and presses their foreheads together, mumbling whispered secrets within gasped breaths.

(It will only bring desolation.)

 

\---

 

“We don’t want you to pass it to us,” They scowl, faces filled with loathing and anger, spitting at him like snakes with words for venom, eyes narrowed, fangs bared. “ _King_.”

(They don’t get it, he thinks, they just don’t understand.)

“Knock it off.” Iwaizumi interrupts, polyester jacket crinkling as he moves towards them in quick strides. “He’s a teammate, not a chew toy.” He scolds, glaring at the other first years until they scurry off like mice. “You okay?” He asks, shoves his hands into his pockets and leans his weight on one leg, cocking his head slightly.

“No one wants to spike my toss…” Kageyama mumbles absentmindedly, glances at a paint speck on the gym floor, scuffs the toe of his shoe into the wood abashedly, fingers tightening their grip around the ball in his hands, lips pulling themselves into a pout.

“You can toss it to me, if you want.” Iwaizumi says, unzips his jacket and flings it to the floor beside Tobio’s feet, reaching out and ruffling his hair as he walks onto the court. “I’ve got time.”

 

\---

 

If Oikawa Tooru is fire, then he is also sun, and Iwaizumi is nothing but a planet being pulled by his orbit.

(And Kageyama is nothing but void, dark matter, a seeming nothingness that can never shine no matter how hard it tries, invisible, unseen, hiding in the shadows of those greater than itself.)

But when Kageyama tosses to Iwaizumi, hears the reassuring sound of his palm slapping rubber, watches as the ball smacks the ground on the other side of the net, he no longer feels like shadows.

(For it is here, at the net, at the centre of the court, where he becomes a star and it is the team who is pulled into _his_ gravitational orbit, where he is the one who shines at the very centre.)

(It is here, where Oikawa becomes shadow, and Iwaizumi becomes Kageyama’s storm.)

 

\---

 

He doesn’t know what’s happening.

(Although, that’s not true -to some extent. He _knows_ what’s happening, he just doesn’t _understand_ it, and he certainly can’t wrap his head around as to ‘ _why_ ’.)

His palms feel sweaty, his heart thuds painfully, and he can’t help the blood that floods his cheeks, blooming heat across his face whenever _he’s_ near.

“Iwaizumi-san,” Kageyama starts, passes the ball lightly between his hands, chews on his tongue, on his words, bites back the bitterness that wishes to come forward, the reality he refuses to face, fidgeting. “If you… If you start the run up earlier, perhaps it-”

“Okay,” Hajime says, wipes at his brow as he backs into position, chest heaving with each pant, foot forward in preparation to sprint. “Okay.”

 

\---

 

“We’ll beat them.” Oikawa states, knuckles whitening by the edge of the sink, saying it more to his reflection than to Iwaizumi, who stands loyally by his side -as always.

“I know.” Hajime whispers, places a hand on Tooru’s shoulder, instantly causing his arms to fall, his back to straighten. “I know we will.” They stare at each other through the mirror, the edges in their faces softening, the creases in their brow smoothing, the determined look in their eyes resurfacing.

(And Kageyama doesn’t get it, doesn’t understand how in a world of rock and stone and rubble that there are two mountains made of glass, held up only by the steel frames of one another.)

“Yeah.” Oikawa turns to Iwaizumi, face dead-set in a grin, eyes alive with a fire that Tobio can’t even begin to comprehend, swirled and mixed together like paint with the storm of Iwaizumi’s own.

(But fire and storm do not work together, for they are opposites, both destined to destroy and both destined to destroy the other, for rain drowns the fire and fire eviscerates the rain.)

 

\---

 

“Iwaizumi-san--” Kageyama calls out weakly, ball in hand. The older boy turns at his mention, but not before Oikawa walks over, slinging an arm over his shoulder, lips pulled into a sly smirk, eyes frozen over like ice.

“Sorry, Tobio-chan.” Oikawa starts, voice laced with lethal poison. “I’m the setter here, not you.”  

(But all he hears are warning sirens, the solid thud of ‘keep away’, and sees an unreachable wall of flame.)

 

\---

 

“You know, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa starts, voice filled with sick decadence, the grin clearly evident despite the fact that Kageyama can’t see him, tucked away in a stall not too far down. “I always thought that if one of us were to get a fan club, it would be me, not you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Iwaizumi sighs over the sound of the zip of his gym bag, his sneakers scuffing against linoleum floors, the slamming metal of a locker door.

(And Tobio feels his chest seize, his heart stand still, because Oikawa knows, he _knows_ , and he possibly knew before Kageyama himself did.)

“Iwaizumi-san! Iwaizumi-san! Spike my toss!” Oikawa mocks, laughing dryly. “Do you have a thing for _all_ setters? Or is it just Tobio-chan and I- ow!” Oikawa whines, rubs his arms after Iwaizumi punches him roughly.

“You’re just jealous because you feel threatened by him.” Hajime huffs, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

“So what if I do?” Oikawa mumbles, “in more ways than one…”

“Then you're a dumbass.” Iwaizumi scoffs, storming out of the locker room.

 

\---

 

“Kageyama do you-- do you think you could toss to me, for a while?”

“What about Oikawa-san?”

(He just needs to hear it, needs to hear the words from his mouth, hungers for meaningless syllables, empty phrases.)

“Nah, don’t worry about him, I want you to toss to me.”

 

\---

 

Storm and darkness go together, for storm blots the light of the sun, and it is within these shadows that darkness flourishes most.

(So why is it, then, that when Iwaizumi jumps he jumps half-heartedly, as if he leaps with the knowledge that he will fall, as if Kageyama can’t catch him, and the ball hits the floor with a soft thud.)

 

\---

 

“Oikawa-san is amazing.” He says one morning, on a whim, at best, his tongue tasting like jealousy and lies, his mind hungry for reaffirmation, for confirmation of what he already knows.

(When stars collapse, they create black holes, and it is then that they drag the rest of the solar system down with them.)

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi says, voice as soft and low as morning fog, eyes filled with tenderness, longing, something Kageyama understands, feels within his bones, within his heart -which beats dully (but not like Iwaizumi feels it, never like he feels it.) “He really is.”

(For without fire, perhaps the storm has nothing to fight, nothing to help it feel alive.)

(But what becomes of shadow when there is light?)

“He’s your setter.” Kageyama states, chest-passes the ball and looks away, grabbing his bag from the sideline and turning to leave. “Not me.”

(For when storm and sun join together they create rainbows, a neverending arc of colour across a vast expanse of sky.)

 

\---

 

Oikawa Tooru, is not the sun.

(And it is not that Kageyama _is_ shadow more than it is what he _becomes_ when in the presence of a light greater than his own comprehension.)

For Oikawa is nothing but a weak, single flame, which clings to others in order to burn at its brightest.

And Iwaizumi Hajime is not storm but a star in the night sky, a star that does not realise how brightly it shines, with clusters of heavenly bodies and twirls of galaxies orbiting in his wake -despite the fact that the rest of the universe is moving away, expanding.

Kageyama and Oikawa are nothing but mere planets, asteroids, pulled into his gravity without having ever realised.

(But Kageyama is also shadow, and shadows cannot grow within the presence of light, of stars, and the light does not dwell in the business of shadows.)

(But darkness will always long to bathe in the light.)

 

\---

 

“Iwaizumi-san.” He begins, watches as Hajime does a hasty job of wiping at his eyes, rubs away the tears filled with memories of his middle school and promises of his new high school, leaving wet patches on his sleeeve.

“Yeah?” He sniffs, eyes slightly blotchy and nose bright red. (But graduation does that to people, he supposes.)

“I--” Love is a double-edged sword, a hurricane, a fire, a darkness that seeps into the hearts of men and destroys, corrupts, (but it can also help, can also heal.)” “--I like you, Iwaizumi-san.”

(But love, admiration, and awe -whatever it is that makes his heart feel this way- are all also sacrifices, destined to leave hearts bruised and battered and broken for the sake of another’s.)

(Unrequited love is better than no love at all.)

Kageyama watches as Hajime’s face falls, as realisation dawns, and he wonders whom those words hurt most when spoken aloud, himself, or Iwaizumi.

(But he knows that if shadows ever wish to flourish they must move away from bright stars, and that storms and fire are destined to create rainbows.)

“You can find someone better than me, kid.” The spiker says, walks over and ruffles his hair, a grin stretching across his face, dry laughter clogging in his throat. He shoves his fists into his pockets as he leaves, and raises a single hand in farewell upon his exit. “We’ll meet again, Tobio.”

(But even the darkness dreams of better worlds where it too can shine like stars.)

 

\---------

 

It’s like a tumor, almost, as if it only grew larger over time, and by the time Kageyama had noticed, it was too late.

(Love is a ghost, a spectre that lingers, that haunts, an eidolon that hovers no matter how hard you try to excorsise it.)

‘ _It’s as if they’re perfectly in sync._ ’

No amount of slamming doors or kicking walls or Hinata’s obnoxious shouting could drown out the repeat of those words within his head, could muffle them into nothing but a jumble of letters, to disassemble the blade they strike through his chest.

(Fire will only ever burn, and storms still whip with ropes of wind and slice with shards of ice.)

His stomach feels sick, hollow, and the idea that you never truly forget a first love causes bile to claw its way up his throat.

(It is funny that when darkness finds a world in which it can shine, it is only ever reminded of the world where it could not.) 

(For Oikawa and Iwaizumi are no longer fire and storm but yin and yang, a never ending circle of pure harmony, like two halves of the same whole, black and white and light and dark.)

“Kageyama.” He hears from behind him, a voice that is lower and rougher than what he remembers, but his all the same.

“Iwaizumi… san.” He adds after a moments hesitation, raises his head from the drink fountain and looks down awkwardly. Hajime steps closer, slightly shorter than Kageyama, if only just, fist clenched in hesitation as reaches out and ruffles his hair.

“Good game today.” Iwaizumi grins, lets his hand hover atop Tobio’s head for a second too long before letting it fall limp beside him. “You’ve changed a lot, you know.”

 _You haven’t_ , he thinks, _you and_ him, _you haven’t changed at all._

 

(His muscles ache with loss of energy, and his head aches with the loss of a game -but it his heart that aches with the loss of another.)

(For shadows flourish when there is no light, but it is in the presence of light that shadows deteriorate away.)

 

* * *

 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> 'What did I just read?' is probably what you're thinking im sorry  
> Thanks for reading!


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